Three books from a rock
The island writers
Tomás Ó Criomhthain — fisherman, born on the Blasket in 1855 — wrote An tOileánach ("The Islandman") in his sixties, in Irish, in a copybook, by the light of an oil lamp. Muiris Ó Súilleabháin, two generations younger, wrote Fiche Blian ag Fás ("Twenty Years A-Growing") before he was thirty. Peig Sayers, who came to the island as a young bride from Dunquin and never learned to write, dictated her autobiography to her son Mícheál in the 1930s. Three illiterate or barely-schooled native Irish speakers from a community of about 150 produced three of the foundational works of modern Irish literature. There is no comparable parish in Europe.
17 November 1953
The evacuation
By the early 1950s the population of the Great Blasket had collapsed below the level needed to crew a currach in a winter sea. After a young man, Seán Ó Cearnaigh, died of meningitis in January 1947 because no boat could land a doctor, the islanders began petitioning the government to take them off. On 17 November 1953 the last 22 islanders were resettled in cottages built for them at Dún Chaoin and Muirríoch, three kilometres in from the cliff they had been able to see all their lives. Most of them lived out their days within sight of the empty island. A few of their houses are still standing on it.
David Lean's lost village
Ryan's Daughter
Lean shot Ryan's Daughter here for the best part of a year in 1969. The production built an entire fictional 1916 village — Kirrary — on the slopes above Coumeenoole, then dismantled it when filming was done. The picture won two Oscars and was kicked from one end of the critical pages to the other; Lean did not direct again for fourteen years. For Dún Chaoin the wages were the point. The parish was draining of its young people; for one season everyone with a back and a wheelbarrow had work. The footings of Kirrary are still legible if you know where to look on the hillside above the strand.
Steps cut into a cliff
The pier
The pier at Dún Chaoin is not really a pier — it is a slipway at the bottom of a near-vertical cliff, reached by a zigzag of concrete ramps the islanders walked up and down with sacks of flour and the post for a hundred years. It was built so they could land currachs in any swell that allowed it. Today coaches stop at the top, a few hundred people walk down for a photograph, and a few of them realise that getting back up is half the trip. The slipway has been intermittently closed in recent years for safety; the boats to the Great Blasket sometimes leave from Dingle instead. Check before you drive.